


devant, derrière et avant ça

by JaneScarlett



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneScarlett/pseuds/JaneScarlett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was funny what regeneration changed. Because these days if he even thought he might see her, he was always five minutes early.   Prompt for imaginationandheartbreak: River x 12.  Date night in Paris’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. une éternité d'attente

**Author's Note:**

> Written for imaginationandheartbreak; prompt: ‘River x 12. Date night in Paris’

He stood on the very top of the Eiffel Tower. Arms crossed, back straight, his face turned to see the city of Paris laid out below him. The air was sharp and chill for May, the breeze buffeting him from all sides; and his coat whipped around his body, falling open to let the scarlet lining make a flash of bright colour against the night sky.

For two thousand years, his modus operandi could be defined as late. Almost always; so much so that in the past it was acknowledged fact that by the time he finally showed up (apologies tumbling from his lips as he nervously tweaked the bow tie he'd once thought so cool) she'd have been waiting for at least a few hours. Her eyes might have been narrowed, lips pursed and foot tapping in frustration; but she would always be there.

His wife, waiting. For him.

Funny what regeneration could change. Late was still his usual for Clara and -well- really, most of the races of the world; but when it came to River... When it came to the possibility of seeing River...

He felt like a school boy anticipating a glimpse of the girl he admired. He’d always dressed for the occasion, but now he did it with deliberate intent. White shirt: clean and crisp, his fingers nervously adjusting his cuffs. Hair: trimmed and groomed to be impeccable. Jacket: brushed free of lint or any other space debris that might have gotten caught on it; and then a glance at the clock, and he was out the door.

Yes, it was funny what regeneration changed. Because these days, if he even thought he might see her, he was always five minutes early.

Which is what led him to be standing on the top of the Eiffel Tower. Not moving; not making even a single twitch of his eyebrow or any other facial expression. He could be a statue. Stern, stoic… no, not a statue. He was like a Roman sentry. Too bad he couldn’t drop Rory a line, tell him that he could beat the Roman at his own waiting game now. The Doctor fancied Mr Pond might have been impressed; though perhaps more so, because it was for his daughter.

Still, waiting. He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes.

So boring.

Not that it mattered how tired he was of standing here alone. And not that he would have moved. Because he might have been different -wanting to run to her and not away- but everything was different. Instead of her waiting for him, he was searching for her. Because he'd said he would.

Or rather; she'd said it for him. Years ago, likely, for her. Hours for him. She'd made a statement. Almost a promise; and River always lived up to her promises.

You'll come meet me later.

It was May, in Paris. 2010. And it felt like he'd been waiting for her for a lifetime.


	2. jusqu'à ce que tu me tombes dans les bras

It was amazing the thoughts you have while catapulting to the ground.

_Oops_ and _not again_ and _I never wanted to go to Paris in the first place and I hope he gets his coordinates right to catch me_. Because if her obituary was going to read that River Song died on May 22, 2011 from taking a header off the Eiffel Tower, the shame of that would consume her for the rest of her life. Or whatever remained of it.

The truth was that this really wasn’t her fault. She'd been with the Doctor. A very young Doctor just a month past Area 52, who still blushed furiously when he adjusted his bow tie and had a slightly nervous giggle when calling her wife. It was a bit adorable, him when he was so young and still trying to woo her with over-the-top romance and the sheer amazingness of the Universe.

“I was thinking France,” he’d said grandly when picking her up. “Paris. City of _love_ …”

“I’ve been.” She couldn’t help her pained grimace; and the Doctor deflated at seeing her expression.

“You’re making a face,” he grumbled. “And not the impressed one, or even the he’s-clever-when-he’s-hot one; but an I’d-rather-be-anywhere-else…” He was still frowning, looking hurt; and River leaned over, hastily pressing her lips on his in a conciliatory kiss.

“It’s not you, sweetie. It’s just… I’m sorry to say that when I think of Paris, I don’t think romance. I think of being fifteen back in Leadworth, when they organized a trip to France.” River sighed. “Historical lectures and enforced marches of tourist sites, with the teachers reminding me at every turn that if I showed any sign of bad behaviour I’d be shipped back to England within the next five minutes.”

“ _Were_ you on good behaviour?” asked the Doctor curiously.

A slight smile curved her lips. “They might have been suspicious when the chaperones got locked into their rooms, which gave someone the time to sneak a few cases of wine in for an impromptu party. But it’s certainly not as though they ever caught me doing anything wrong.”

“I bet they didn’t.” He looked as though he was trying to be disapproving, but couldn’t help the amused gleam in his eyes.

“Well,” continued River. “It wasn’t the best of experiences. The teachers, my fellow students… Amy, scrutinizing every plate of food that came in front of her in case a snail slipped in.

“But worst of all?” She shuddered. “Rory. In a beret.”

“A beret?” The Doctor’s eyes lit up and warning bells flashed in River’s mind.

“He couldn’t pull it off,” she said sternly. “And neither can you.”

“Well,” said the Doctor finally. He was visibly trying to restrain himself, but she had an eerie sixth sense that moment her back was turned, he’d be in a hat shop. “That was a trip with school children, can’t blame you. No romance there.”

“But with my husband?” teased River. The Doctor flushed a rosy pink, pulling her into his arms and brushing his lips softly across her temple.

“Husband,” he mused. “Paris, with your husband.” He sounded a little nervous. “Doesn’t that sound… aren’t you even a little tempted by that, River?”

She had a feeling that no matter what she said, she was lost. Despite having lukewarm feelings toward Paris in the first place; from the moment he’d shown up at her house near the Luna University, twirled his bowtie and greeted her with a bashful kiss; this very young, trying-to-impress version of her husband had her hearts wrapped around his little finger. (It was scant consolation that when she was younger, she knew she’d done the same to him.)

“A night of romance in Paris, with my husband.” She sighed, feigning indifference. “I suppose I can be persuaded…” She hadn’t even finished her sentence before the Doctor, bouncing on his toes and grinning, grabbed her hand.

“It’ll be totally different,” he enthused. “Paris, River! The reputation of this city; did you know, for centuries people make trips here because of that. One city, known throughout all time because of the romance here. The number of marriages and honeymoons and anniversaries it’s seen…” He gave her a sidelong look, lacing his fingers through hers as he pulled her toward the TARDIS doors.

“This,” the Doctor had said, pausing dramatically, “will be a night we won’t forget.”

To give him his due, River thought ruefully -only ten minutes later- it certainly had turned into a night she wouldn’t forget. And, it _had_ been different from the first time she was there. With teachers and classmates –and even her parents– the only dangers in Paris had been boredom.

With the Doctor… well, with the Doctor, they opened the TARDIS doors to emerge on the top of the Eiffel Tower, and promptly found themselves in the crossfire of an alien skirmish with a few horrified human bystanders trying to stay well back. Her mind raced, cataloguing them. A teenaged couple with not-very-discreetly-hidden hickeys on their necks. A little girl in a pink dress, peeping out from behind her Mother’s skirt. A handful of Japanese businessmen, eyes and mouths in round ‘o’s of surprise.

Beside her, the Doctor’s shoulders slumped, and he gave a very audible sigh. “This isn’t exactly the Parisian sight I had in mind,” he mumbled, half to himself. Despite the situation, she grinned.

“And here I thought that you _do_ know how to woo a girl. Paris and a battle scene. Very romantic.”

“Hush,” scolded the Doctor. But he was smiling again, his fingers still entwined with hers even as his eyes darted around, taking in the entire situation.

“Do you know what this is about?” she asked. “I can’t tell where they’re from.”

“Neighbouring tribes from Gdin,” whispered the Doctor under his breath, identifying the leathery green-skinned aliens and the shades of purple in their armour in a cursory glance. “Their fights over the succession are legendary on their star system.”

“So much so that they’ve ranged outside?”

He nodded. “They’re also a bit…” The Doctor paused. “Well, resistant to sonic energy.”

“No screwdriver, then?”

“Not at all. Makes them violent. Well, violent-er than usual.”

“Lovely. Got a plan, sweetie?”

“Working on it?” He sounded more hopeful than certain; and River sighed.

“Protect them,” she whispered, eyes flickering toward the bystanders as she let go of his hand. “I have an idea.” Moving slowly, she carefully pulled her blaster from its holster, ignoring the Doctor’s disgusted expression.

Sometimes, like now, it was clear how young he was. To him, one gun was the same as another; but he hadn’t realised that despite what she might have used in _her_ youth, this one was set to stun only. Moving quietly, one careful footstep at a time to stay unnoticed, she crept from the shadows until she was standing in a patch of fading sunlight, her skin and hair burnished red-gold from the setting sun.

“Now, now, boys,” River called out, mildly pleased to see how every face turned toward her. It was nice to be the centre of attention. “Haven’t you gotten the memos? This is a peaceful planet, and these people here don’t deserve to have your civil war on their doorstep. Or landmark, as the case might be.”

They ignored her, so she tried again; her voice a little louder. “I see your ships outside, so I’ll let you go with a warning. If you want to fight, take it somewhere else.” Speeches were the Doctor’s forte, not hers; but she was certainly skilled enough at the art of persuasion. In whatever form.

“This Earth,” said River, “is protected. I’d suggest you leave before I decide to stop being polite.”

That got their attention. The blasts of gunfire halted, and the leader of one group turned toward her. “Protected by…who? You two humanoids? I could snap you with one hand.” He laughed, and sycophantically the rest of the Gdin followed suit. River smiled sweetly, gesturing toward her husband with her free hand.

“Well,” she admitted. “He’s really the protector. The Doctor.” As she’d thought might happen, there was a dismayed intake of breath at his name from the Gdin, but no one lowered their guns until she gave them a feral smile. Eyes narrowed, teeth bared...

“But sometimes I drop in to help him out. Have you ever heard of me? _I’m_ River Song.”

It was gratifying when her reputation preceded her. There was a veritable stampede as everyone turned and ran… although that could have been because she hit the safety on her blaster as she spoke, firing one shot over their heads, before slowly, deliberately lowering her arm down…

“She’s one woman!” the leader protested as his comrades fled. “We have numbers and strength on our side, we can take her!”

“I’d like to see you try,” said the Doctor. His arms were crossed, face serious; but his eyes met hers, almost glowing with pride and affection.

“There are a lot of ways to succeed,” the leader growled. He raised his gun, aiming toward River. She tensed, hearts pounding and finger steady on the trigger of her blaster… when he whirled around suddenly, gun pointing at the bystanders.

A lot of things can happen in a split second. The Doctor flailed his arms out, knocking everyone to the ground. River fired at the leader’s hand to throw off his aim, as she flung her body into a neat tuck-and-roll to bring him down.

Which worked. Almost. Her trajectory might have been a little off; or he shifted his weight at the last moment which threw _her_ off as she compensated for it…

The people were safe, River thought as she clutched wildly for the railings, missing them entirely as she flew over the edge. Most of the Gdin were on board their ships and powering away; the Doctor would ensure the humans were safe and the leader would be brought in front of the Shadow Proclamation for misconduct.

And then he would rescue her. No matter how long he took, she knew he’d figure it out. Time it perfectly to catch her before she became a smudge on the ground.

All the same, it seemed like a long, long way down. Lots of time to think as she was in a free fall, the grass coming closer and closer… until something blue flashed in the corner of her eye, and she wasn’t falling anymore.

Sliding. That was the word. She was sliding across the TARDIS floor, the gravitational pull working to slow her momentum down until she stopped abruptly by an impatiently tapping, booted foot.

She knew those boots. Sturdy, practical, go-anywhere boots; and even before River looked up, she was grinning.

“Hello, sweetie.”

It was the Doctor, albeit an older one than the one she’d just been with. No tweed or bowtie; but a crisp white shirt and dark trousers. He was still tall and lean, but his dark, tousled fringe and wide eyed enthusiasm had been replaced by silvery hair, short around a narrow face, and intent blue eyes.

“You know me, then?” he said finally.

“Wouldn’t it be a pity if I didn’t recognize my own husband?”

“Ah, well. It’s this face,” he said, patting his cheeks self-consciously. “It’s new on for me.”

“But the Doctor behind it is still terrible with spoilers.” She winked, noticing his slight flush –really, he set rules for them that he could never remember to follow himself- before he composed himself.

“So you know this face. And you're not surprised, which means you've seen it before.” His face creased for a moment in a grin, happy and triumphant. “How many times? No,” he amended quickly. “Don't tell me.

“Well, that's one question answered at least. But it depends on where you’re from, Doctor Song.”

“Professor. And I was just in Paris,” supplied River, noting how his smile faded from her mention of her title. No matter his face, he was still quite young then, to look so upset at that word.

“Paris.” He sounded disgusted. “That’s obvious. The _facts_ , River. Look at the facts.” His hands twitched at his sides, as though he couldn't keep them still.

“Fact one,” said the Doctor. “There’s a TARDIS here to catch you. Fact two: she did not navigate herself.

“Well,” he paused, “maybe she did. But she still came to get you, _with_ an accompanying Doctor. And fact three? Before opening the doors, of course I would check to see where I was. At least the basic continent and landmarks.

“So: Paris. I knew that part already.” He raised an eyebrow as though daring her to challenge him; and she bit back her smirk. Oh, those eyebrows. What they could convey was so much more extensive than his last regeneration could have managed… though, he did certainly have more to work with now.

“Hmm,” said the Doctor finally, reaching out to help her up from the floor. She was surprised at the feel of his hands steady on her ribcage as he waited for her to get her footing, his face close as he scrutinized every inch of her, as though he was seeing her for the first time in years.

“Hmm,” said the Doctor again, finally pulling his hands away but not moving back even one step. “Don’t you _ever_ learn? Flying is done in a TARDIS. Not when you feel like taking a dive off another high building.”

“That wasn’t flying,” she retorted. “It was falling. As you know.”

“Off the Eiffel Tower.”

"Hardly my fault. It was your idea."

“No,” said the Doctor. “Don't you lay the blame for that on me, River Song. I said: nice, romantic place. Let's go to Paris. I said: the Eiffel Tower is a nice place to start. Let us look over the city before you get me into trouble.”

She snorted in amusement. “First of all? If there was any trouble to get into, I can guarantee that the blame would be shared between us.” He didn’t reply, but his lips twitched slightly. It was his way of admitting –without actually admitting- that she just might have been correct.

“Regardless; if you want to start blaming someone about what happened? I hope you remember that I offered to fly her, but you slapped my hands off the controls and said you could navigate dates perfectly well on your own.

“And,” she added ominously, “I _could_ use the words ‘environment check’ here, but I doubt you'd care.”

“I care,” said the Doctor, frowning just a little.

“But you won’t do them.”

“Why? Boring! No fun in those.”

His face was screwed up into a fully-fledged scowl now, his arms crossed, and posture wary. But his eyes were twinkling; and River bit her lip, trying not to smile. She’d only seen this him a handful of times so far; and while she loved the Doctor (any and every him), she especially adored him when he was like this. Mature. After the newness of them had worn away, when time together was about the connection of minds and hearts and souls. (And running and adventure. Those too.)

“And, I did tell you,” said River, “that I wasn’t too interested in Paris.”

“But,” he sputtered, letting his arms drop to his sides and shoulders relax. “It’s Paris, River. Paris.” He looked at her meaningfully; and she stared back, unimpressed.

“I’m not sure why you think that convinces me.”

“Because…” He shook his hands, fingers clenching and splaying spasmodically. “Because! It’s Paris! How do we do it, River? I still don’t know, sometimes. It’s the timelines. Our timelines! Those stupid bloody…”

She caught his hands in hers, pulling him toward her, stopping his words with a kiss.

“Use your words,” she murmured a moment later, her lips curving into a slow smile. “And not,” she touched her finger to his mouth, “just the swears.”

He laughed at that, his fingers busy smoothing her curls off her face. “No promises. Look, River. Paris… I’ve got good memories there. And no; don’t even try to get me to give you spoilers, because I won’t.”

“Which is a spoiler in and of itself, sweetie.”

“Technically,” he pointed at her, one long finger shaking in front her nose. She bared her teeth, preparing to snap at it, as he raised an eyebrow at her. “ _Technically_ ,” he continued, surreptitiously withdrawing his hand and wrapping it around her waist instead, “I didn’t say a word. Alright, falling off the Eiffel Tower while protecting a few people wasn’t the best start of a date. I admit that. But you have to let me try again.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She was about to say something, something completely convincing to tell him that she’d rather he took her anywhere else, when he bent his head slightly, just enough to plant a feather-light kiss on her collarbone. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his soft, open mouthed kisses against her skin, his tongue trailing a line up her neck before he nibbled on her earlobe.

“You can’t convince me like that,” said River.

“Who said anything about convincing?” His voice was low, murmuring into her ear.

“I know you, Doctor.”

“And I know you,” he whispered, his hands sliding up her back until his fingers were tangled into the curls at her nape, his palms cradling her chin as he brushed his thumb over her lips and lowered his mouth down to hers.

He kissed differently than the Doctor she’d just left. The same, but different. Gone was that initial tentativeness, his uncertainty of what to do or how she’d react; but never changing was the firm pressure of his lips, the tip of his tongue darting out lightly, teasingly; until she opened her mouth wider, her arms twining around his neck, as their tongues tangled around each other, messy and sloppy and thrilling. He forgot in moments like this that she didn’t have the same respiratory bypass system he had, that she might actually have needed air… but to be honest, she forgot that too. All that mattered was him. Them. The feeling of his hands roving restlessly down her body, sliding over her hips to cup her bum and pull her so their lower bodies were aligned, that delicious hardness pressed right against her core; as their tongues fought and soothed and danced and passion ignited…

River broke away from their kiss, eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath. She couldn’t help tugging at his shirt, pulling it out from where it had been neatly tucked in so she could slip her hands underneath, feeling the soft skin of his stomach cool beneath the heat of her fingers. The Doctor tensed suddenly, not related to anything they were doing; and River chuckled.

“I forgot,” she murmured, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his chin, before touching her lips to one side of his mouth, then the other. “You’re ticklish now.”

If anything, the Doctor tensed even further.

“I’m not,” he protested, shrinking away from her a little. She waggled her fingers against his ribs, smirking at how he was clearly trying not to squirm.

“I’m not ticklish. Can’t be… I’m just sensitive. Nerve endings must be too close under my skin this go round. Explains why I’m against hugging now.”

“Oh really?” She smiled lazily up at him. “I know you, sweetie. And I know your face when you lie.” He was trying to look lofty and unconcerned, but he couldn’t help shifting uncomfortably, and she smirked, giving one little twitch of her fingers to see him wince.

“I’d still wager,” teased River, “that a few movements of my fingers could have you writhing and begging for mercy.”

“Well,” said the Doctor. “I could say the same thing.” He reached down, bunching her skirt up in one hand before he paused, his hand on her hip, running his knuckles back and forth against the waistband of her knickers. River licked her lips, suddenly breathless in anticipation. She wanted this, wanted him; and from his sudden grin, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“We could bet,” he offered, slipping his fingers just underneath the elastic, sliding his fingers softly over her stomach and pretending not to notice her breathing getting shallow, and the subtle shift of her body as she tried to force his hand to where she wanted it. He let each trail of his fingers move lower, lower; but just not enough to satisfy.

“If,” said the Doctor, “I could get you… now, how did you put it? Writhing and begging for mercy?”

River growled, her hand clenched around his forearm. He grinned fiercely, letting the tip of one finger reach lower and make one small circle before pulling it back. She let out a little cry, her nails digging into his skin.

“Then you’ll owe me what I ask for. One more trip to Paris, River. Get things right.”

“And if I win?”

“If you win, what?” The Doctor looked confused.

“If I win,” River said, trying to ignore what he was doing in the favour of coherency. It was impossible; it felt like her entire brain was occupied by the feel of his fingers, coated with her slick wetness rubbing little circles against her clit, slow and teasing. Against her will, her hips bucked up against his hand; and he laughed.

“Oh, you mean if you tickle me, and I’m the one who ends up begging you?” His other hand was on her bum, fingers stroking and squeezing until she thought he might leave a bruise as he pulled her closer. “Don’t worry. You won’t win by tickling me. I won’t let you.”

“ _Let_ me?” River managed to gasp before he was kissing her, pulling his hand free only so he could tug the zip of her dress down to let it fall into a pool of soft blue fabric at her feet and her knickers off, all without moving his mouth from hers. Her fingers were on the buttons of his shirt, impatient as she undid each one, pushing it off his shoulders before struggling with his belt, almost sobbing with need as she finally slipped her hand down his trousers, feeling him hard and velvety smooth against her palm.

“Trying to distract me? You’re redefining the bet,” he mumbled against her mouth, slipping one finger inside of her as he pressed the heel of his hand down, rhythmically.

“Shut up,” River whispered. Their wager was the last thing on her mind… because she had a feeling that whatever happened, whoever won, she’d still be returning to Paris, if only to reassure his Eleventh self that she hadn’t just disappeared.

She didn’t have to make that decision obvious for him though. So she slid her hand down, fingers circled around his shaft as she slid them back up, swiping her thumb over his head in a swift motion before sinking down again. The Doctor hissed, eyes meeting hers as he slid another finger into her, increasing the speed at how he thrust into her. She was so wet already that even her thighs felt damp and sticky, the scent of her arousal heavy in the air around them as she arched her back thrusting her breasts into his face and her hips against his hand.

It was like a fire, inside her. A slow burning fire that consumed and ravaged; and when he lowered his head a little to flick his tongue over her nipples before drawing one then the other into his mouth, his teeth grazing over them before biting down heavier, she couldn’t help the low whimper that came out. The Doctor groaned, kissing up her breasts, over her collarbone; before pressing his face against her neck as though breathing her in, his fingers pumping faster inside her.

“Do you know how long it's been since I've seen you,” he whispered suddenly, his breath hot against her ear.

“Years?” she asked absently, already starting to writhe beneath him. Her hips twisting and thrusting up against the ministrations of his long, clever fingers, his thumb firm against her clit.

"Longer than that,” he answered softly. “Longer than you’d think. And all that time, whenever you weren't here, sometimes I'd close my eyes and think of you like this. Of you here in my arms… when,” his voice dropped a little lower, “you’re just so ready for me that I can feel it. Your whole body, vibrating under my hands. Like the string on a bow when the arrow is nocked and waiting to fly.

“And then you make that sound. That panting, sobbing sound in the back of your throat; and it’s all mixed up with a little scream and a moan that tells me you’re on the edge, right on the edge, River.” He was talking faster now, a little breathless as he thrust into her hand as haphazardly as she was rutting against him; telling her she might have been on that edge, but oh, he was right there too.

“And if I were to just move here,” he said, shifting his fingers fractionally to the left to make her cry out, clinging to him with her free hand and wrapping her leg around his waist. “Ah, yes. That’s it. It’s like music that sound; the best thing I know in the Universe. Though actually. You know what it’s like?” He paused, his hand stilling for a moment as he put his lips next to her ear, giving a small chuckle that sounded positively filthy.

“It’s like you begging me not to stop without you using the actual words. If you know what I mean.”

River’s eyes flew open as his words registered. His eyes were heavy lidded with passion, but his grin was triumphant as he twisted his fingers just there; and she was arching up against him, her body hot and cold and shaking and desperate, riding fierce waves of pleasure.

“I hate you,” she panted when she was able to talk again.

“Now,” he chided, “don’t say things you don’t mean.” He flashed her a quick, unrepentant smile that turned into a surprised moue when she pushed him hard enough that he landed on the floor.

“But I won,” he protested blinking owlishly up at her. “You’re a sore loser.”

“You say that as though you aren’t,” River said shortly. She leaned over him, her breasts only inches from his face until he darted his tongue out, circling around her nipple. She shivered, closed her eyes for a moment, the embers of passion reigniting into a slow, persistent burn; before she opened her eyes again, her hands on his shoulders as she pushed him until he was lying down. The TARDIS floor, while not being glass this time, was cold –she could tell from his shiver- but she stared straight into his eyes as she trailed her fingers down his chest, pausing at his waistband.

“Paris means that much to you?”

He nodded, watching her hands flutter lightly over his erection tenting his trousers.

“Why?”

“Good memories,” he said gruffly. River smiled, shaking her head.

“Nice try, sweetie. Not good enough.”

He bit his lip, trying to stay in control… but she knew him. There was a give and take in being them; sometimes he won and sometimes she did, sometimes in affection they gave in to each other… but he was being remarkably persistent about them going to Paris. Even when he knew she had no interest in it.

River slung one leg over his hips so she could sit astride him, pressing down and sliding her body against him. The fabric of his trousers was rough against the bare skin of her thighs, and she could feel her wetness seeping out, making a damp spot that grew as she circled her hips slowly before deliberately grinding against him. He whimpered, his eyes narrowing.

“Try again?” she suggested pleasantly. The Doctor grumbled something low in his throat, putting his hands on her hips. She wasn’t sure if it was to stop or encourage her.

“Didn’t catch that, sorry.” She slide her own hands down her body, cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples, before dropping her head back, lowering her gaze with the faintest smile on her face. She knew him. He couldn’t resist watching her when she did that; his gaze hungry, as though he could devour her with his eyes alone.

“I’m just a bit distracted,” she ground her hips down against him, feeling his cock twitch beneath her, “thinking about what would happen if you weren’t so stubborn and would just tell me why you wanted to go to Paris so badly.

“Because,” she opened her eyes, staring into his and licking her lips, “all I can think about is your trousers tangled around your ankles and what it feels like having you inside me. Fucking me until I scream, and I’m not sure where you end and I begin.”

His breathing was harsh, and she had no doubts he was picturing just that; and she couldn’t help her sly smirk as she climbed off him, ignoring his grunt of frustration.

“At least,” said River cheerfully, “that’s what _I’m_ thinking about right now. I’m sure you’re running equations in your mind, and congratulating yourself that you won… but think about this, sweetie.” She leaned over him, her lips inches from his.

“How often do I actually let you tell me what to do, anyway,” she whispered. His eyes narrowed, forehead creasing into a frown.

“Rarely. And,” added the Doctor, “you fight dirty.” River smirked.

“I learned from the best.”

He sat up, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off in one swift movement, before reaching for her and rolling them over until she was on her back, her legs wrapped around his waist as he lay on top of her.

“You’re a menace,” he mumbled, ducking his head down to scatter kisses over her breasts, giving her a sharp nibble on the collarbone that made her gasp. He was very fond of biting, this particular Doctor. “Too bloody stubborn.”

He thrust into her suddenly, almost without warning; and River cried out, her fingernails scrabbling against his back as she thrust her hips eagerly up against him. She threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut. So good, that feeling of him filling her up; the delicious friction as he pulled back slowly, making her body ache, craving more _more_ until he thrust into her again, harder and faster each time.

“You’re manipulative,” she hissed, digging her fingers into his shoulders. Her legs were starting to cramp, locked tight against his narrow waist; but she loved it. Loved even his weight pressing her down as he pounded into her, the TARDIS floor hard against her back.

“And you hate that,” growled the Doctor, punctuating his words with a little twist of his hips, each one leaving her gasping.

“Just like you hate me being stubborn?” she teased.

“Except I wouldn’t have you any other way, wife.”

There was a softness in his voice, a fond, adoring way he said those words that belied the rapid movements of his hips surging against her; and River opened her eyes to see him staring down at her. She reached up, one hand stroking over his cheek before pulling his face down to hers.

“You either,” she whispered back before kissing him. She could feel him groan low in the back of his throat; but the only sounds in the room after a moment were their kisses, messy and increasingly frantic and interspersed with soft cries and moans. He drove into her again and again, faster and faster until she whimpered, pulled her mouth from his and closing her eyes, her body trembling, her sex clenching and spasming madly around him.

“Look at me,” commanded the Doctor in a low voice, his breathing harsh. “I want you looking at me.”

It was a struggle to open her eyes; but so worth it. His gaze locked on hers, his face screwed up in a pained effort as he came with one last thrust, his body tense and still before he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as their breathing slowed.

River finally sighed, pushing him off her so she could curl up at his side, her head on his chest. His hearts beat reassuringly under her cheek, and his hands were moving gently against her sweat slicked skin, idly tracing Gallifreyan sigils. _Wife_ and _love_ and _forever_ … she could feel the cool edges of the ring she’d given to him long ago but only this regeneration wore. His fingers traced the words: _however it happened, heart against brain: your smile is as vital to me as air; as water and stars_ over her hip; and she smiled, pressing her lips softly to each side of his ribcage, one kiss for each heart.

His hands stilled, fingers splayed on her lower back. “So,” he said softly, clearing his throat. “I won. You owe me.”

“So Scottish,” she murmured drowsily. He grumbled, a wry smile on his lips.

“Blame your Mother.”

“I’d rather not think of my Mother right now, but thank you anyway.”

He gave a low, chiding chuckle. “Come on, wife. No more evasion. I won; so Paris. And besides,” he sounded thoughtful, “you'd owe me anyway. I saved you from becoming a flattened spot beneath a landmark.”

“Yes,” said River slowly. “I suppose that's true.” A thought occurred to her that probably should have earlier. "How did you know, though? This you?"

She knew she wasn't imagining the evasiveness of his shrug, and she raised herself up on one elbow to see his face; which he promptly turned away.

“You told me I'd catch you,” he admitted gruffly. “When I was older.”

“And?”

“Clara’s not always around, running off on dates these days with tall men. Had time to think of it, the things left unfinished.”

She could hear the words he was leaving unsaid. _I had time to think of how much I miss you._

“And anyway,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “I'm certainly older now.”

“True.” She giggled as he sat up abruptly, walking to the console, setting the TARDIS in flight. River leaned back, her eyes appreciatively trailing over him. Long pale limbs and the lean, straight lines of his back, the small rounded curve of his bum.

“I can feel your eyes on my arse,” he said suddenly. "Burning holes in it. Take a picture, it’ll last longer. And then get dressed.”

“Never my favourite words from you, sweetie.”

He wasn’t prone to blushes, this regeneration. But she still saw the slightest tinge of pink in his cheeks, spreading rapidly down his chest.

“Not all of us,” he said, dignified as only her Doctor could be when standing nude by the time rotor, “have the time to keep swanning around here around in our altogether. You, wife, have somewhere to be.”

“Doctor-“

“No." He looked like he was shaking slightly. Like he was regretting having to say anything at all. "Don’t even think about arguing with me; you’re going.”

“Doctor-” River said.

“You know,” he interrupted, “next time I should get a more romantic wife. Because some people,” he muttered beneath his breath, “dream about getting married in Paris.”

It was all he said, and he'd clearly thrown out those words only to be a distraction. But it worked. Her eyes widened in sudden surprise and understanding... his sidelong glances, the unsubtle comments about weddings and anniversaries in Paris. His insistence on the date; May 22, their one month anniversary.

He looked at her, nodding curtly.

“Yes, good. Penny drops, as someone used to say. So, Paris. I’ll just leave you there…” He turned away, his hand on the plotter; but just for a moment his eyes roamed hungrily over her. As though he wasn’t certain when he’d see her again, and he was storing up the image of her -naked and sated, sprawled on the TARDIS floor and smiling up at him- to remember for the rest of eternity.

She knew what that felt like. The uncertainty of which him she’d see; or when he’d come back. He was better now -this him- than he'd been before. But she could tell, it was still early for him. She sighed, internally. It was always hard to be the older one in their relationship.

“And then you’ll come meet up with me later.” River finished his sentence for him with a casual shrug. As though she was stating an inevitable fact; and his eyes flicked to her, wide and nervous and completely, utterly relieved.

“Yes,” said the Doctor curtly, turning away from her to hide his smile. “And I’ll meet up with you later.”


	3. avant que le monde fasse demi tour

The problem was that for time travellers, later could be any time. And the agony of that, the wanting and waiting meant that any chance he had found the Doctor navigating to France, in May of every year. Like it was some damn lodestone, drawing him back for the hope of seeing her.

She'd known him. She'd seen his face before... but aside from earlier, this face hadn't seen _her_.

"Later," muttered the Doctor impatiently to himself. She'd said it. Like a promise, before he brought her back to do what he remembered from his Eleventh self. Finding her again just outside the Eiffel Tower, teasing him gently that he’d catch her when he was older. Whisking her off for breakfast in Ile St-Louis, and a wedding among the gargoyles at Notre Dame. Feeding each other pastries at a café in Canal St. Martin, her licking jam from his fingertips with enough sensuality to make him blush; before wandering, hand in hand to find the best of the street art. 

And then a honeymoon in the TARDIS. River, spread out beneath him, her limbs smooth and golden as she clutched him to her. Her face beautiful and dazed with pleasure.

"Later," said the Doctor again, standing alone on top the Eiffel Tower with his memories. He had a feeling later was impossible. Still. Impossible didn’t keep him from wishing. Hoping, that he might be wrong… because if he could ever be proven wrong, it would be by his wife.

“It's difficult," said a soft voice behind him, "to find you when you think later means a year before we were even originally here."

He spun around, the barest hint of the rising sun making his jacket lining flare an even brighter scarlet than usual as it swirled open around his hips. River was standing back, almost hidden in the shadows, but his eyesight was better than perfect, and even just the glimpse of light burnishing her curls, dancing off the curves of her cheeks and her amused smile made his throat ache.

“You didn't tell me when,” he answered, his voice gruff to mask his excitement.

“ _You're_ the Time Lord,” teased River gently. “And you'd done Paris before. I didn't think I'd need to give you time space coordinates.”

He shrugged, one little twitch of his shoulders. “I might have been eager to see you.”

She stepped forward, hands outstretched; and without a moment’s thought, he was in her arms. _Still against hugging_ he thought, cradling his wife against him. He hated it when Clara tried.

But this wasn't that all-too-human tactile outpouring of affection that this body seemed to loath. This was his wife in his arms, soft curves pressed against him, her hair in his face; and that made all the difference. It had been a lifetime, an eternity since Trenzalore, her ghost whispering spoilers and disappearing; but right now he felt like the world had settled back into familiar territory, everything in its rightful place.

“When have you come from?” asked the Doctor. He ducked his face down, breathing in the spicy smell of time and space on her skin, his words emerging muffled through her curls.

“2015.” He could hear the fond smile in her voice. “Anniversary, sweetie. Takes place _after_ the event.”

“When have we ever gone in order?” asked the Doctor. “Boring. We don’t do that, River.”

His wife was laughing softly at him, tipping her head back to see his face; and he found himself enraptured at the amusement in her voice. He would never have told her that he had deliberately done it; gone backwards in hopes of finding her younger self. She’d been a professor, in Paris; and any time they had together after that would be brief… and selfishly, he wanted the illusion that he had more waiting for him. Even if it wasn’t true.

“I was busy,” River said lightly, her fingers trailing over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric down. “Before this, it was all teaching and classes.

“And,” she added, almost shyly, “Darillium.”

His breath caught, blue eyes going wide at the implication. A coy smile curved her lips, but she didn’t look up at him.

“And then after Library,” River finished cheerfully, “I looked for you at Trenzalore, but you'd already gone by the time the force field disintegrated.”

His hands tightened on her waist, as if to reassure himself that she was really there. He could feel the soft silkiness of her clothes warm from the heat of her body, firm curves beneath his fingers. Not an illusion. Not made up.

“How?” he asked tersely.

She finally met his gaze, her eyes sparkling. “Spoilers.”

“Don't give me that. Heard it too many times before.”

“Some things should to be lived, Doctor.”

“Some of us are too impatient.”

“Then think of all you'll miss out on?”

He knew River, and he knew what that tone of her voice meant. Spoilers were spoilers; and there was a reason she wouldn’t tell him. Most likely something to do with him.

Still. She was never above hinting.

“You told me,” said the Doctor softly, “you'd seen this face before.”

“I have. Maybe,” she was definitely smirking now, “a few times so far. Therefore; aren't you asking the wrong question?”

“And, Professor,” he laid a little stress on that word, “the right one would be…?”

“When I was here the first time… just _when_ I was? Because,” River looked positively gleeful, teasing him, “when you showed up to whisk me off to Paris for an impromptu marriage… you were so impatient back then, you never even thought to properly check dates and diaries…”

He couldn’t always seem to control his face yet; too early to be fully comfortable in it. (And not just the eyebrows; though those certainly had a life of their own. Scowling and raising and scowling again.) But his mouth seemed to be betraying him, now. It was stretching from side to side without his permission, into a delighted grin.

“All the way back then?”

She looked away from him, smile in place; but she didn’t say a word.

“Would you tell me if I asked nicely?”

She shook her head, curls dancing. “Not a chance, sweetie. All in good time. You could try to persuade me…”

“Another bet, then.” His fingers flexed involuntarily, and she grinned.

“Maybe another marriage too?” she teased.

“Well.” His arm was around her shoulders as he drew her to the edge of the Tower so they could look down at the city, sparkling beneath them as the sun rose. “It _is_ Paris. And we do have a history here.”

Funny, what regeneration could change. He was different, and everything was different; but sometimes everything spun around and the world righted itself on its axis, and what was lost was found. And sometimes -even without an explanation- you could find yourself with something even better than anything you could have dreamt of before.

“City of romance,” said the Doctor. “We’ve all the time in the world, River. What do you think: Paris with your husband?”

“Persuade me,” his wife answered, pulling him in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Stef for translations!
> 
> Chapter titles translate to:  
> an eternity of waiting/until you fall into my arms/before the world turns right round again


End file.
